


Conditions

by ellyelisey



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Killing Eve Week 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:09:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27680522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellyelisey/pseuds/ellyelisey
Summary: Villanelle sees Eve from afar at a London train station, 8 years after the bridge. She recounts the night they shared together in her hotel room all those years ago.This will be a short multi-chapter fic written from Villanelle's POV.And my playlist, crafted with V & E in mind: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NoziKjxDykeao2O5btNdk?si=HnZ_onPEQTSDX7-ucRS6yg
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Villanelle | Oksana Astankova/You
Comments: 19
Kudos: 160





	1. Chapter 1

You would recognize Her anywhere. It had been years since you last caught sight of her, and even longer since you spoke to each other. This time it was unintentional.

Even now, as She sat slumped on a bench in Liverpool St. station donning some dowdy brown bucket hat, undoubtedly Uniqlo slacks, one of her no-nonsense black turtlenecks, and a slightly redeemable Barbour raincoat, Eve Polastri would always be immediately recognizable to you. You heard Her laugh before you saw her. Guttural and throaty — the kind of sound she made when annoyed, but still slightly amused.

She sat next to her ginger bearded partner — you knew because you’d kept tabs on her over the years. You were still you, after all. You didn’t hate him. Call it self-evolvement or some shit — but he seemed to make her ‘happy’. Whatever that meant.

He wasn’t like the mustache, at least. He saw her darkness, and — while he couldn’t relate — he seemed to accept it. Eve didn’t seem to love him — at least not the way he appeared to love her. But he could make her laugh. She wasn’t ‘awake’ but she wasn’t complacent either.

You knew she’d never really stop trying to find you. On a few occasions, you almost let her.

You only considered offing him a few times. But only in the moments when the ache from missing her became too much, and you second-guessed the decision you made on the bridge, all those years ago.

—————

Call it some bullshit cliche, but you didn’t know what love was until you met her. Not really.

And it wasn’t until she asked you - well, frankly, pleaded - for you to ‘make it stop’ that you actually realized it. So you turned.

Remarkable character development, really. Monster who? You should’ve been smug as shit. But, the further you walked from her, the tighter the coil pulled inside your chest.

You’d dealt with all kinds of pain before, and that’s an understatement. But nothing compared to this. You couldn’t walk for long. It was as if some asshole had a heel pressed to your chest, digging it in with each step away from her.

You knew she’d stopped too. You weren’t by any sane person’s standards, a woman of faith. No one who believed in a ‘higher power’ could take lives as cavalierly as you did and not fear eternal damnation, or some shit.

But, then, you couldn’t make sense of the clandestine pull between the two of you.

It pulsed in your stomach and sat at the nape of your neck. Some cosmic bullshit.

You knew she felt it too. That’s why when you turned to face her, you weren’t really surprised to see those feelings reflected back in her face. She looked….open. Her eyes were shining. For once Eve Fucking Polastri had let her guard down. She’d finally given in to what you both knew you felt for the other.

And you couldn’t do anything about it now. Not now that you knew what this Love business was. That’s not what loving her, really loving her, meant. And it hurt more than a hundred kicks to the ribs.

And so tried your best to smile — knowing she’d see the grimace in your eyes. By far your weakest disguise, and you’d mastered countless in your line of work. And you left. The whole time feeling her eyes burrowing into the tall of your back.

—————

You wonder if she can sense you staring. You’re on the second level platform above her. Your flair fashion has not faltered over the years, but if anything it’s become less...flamboyant. Today, the look is a form-fitting black bodysuit, leather culottes, and a Proenza Schouler forest green oversized blazer. You wear dark-framed Gucci reading glasses, and your hair is tied smartly into a low bun. Your chunky Prada loafers complete the ensemble.

You've just finished a job — not your former line of work. 'Work' these days is far less titillating, but also...rewarding. A descriptor you sure as hell never thought you'd use. You run a discrete consulting business made up of a dozen ex-convicts, mostly Slavik. Being your own boss has its perks. You're essentially a professional mind-fucker. Rather than taking lives, you destroy them. As the business is your own, you can be selective about the clients you take on. You ensure that they are fully deserving of the mania you inflict, by your own standards of 'ethics', at least.

And when you crave your old twisted ways, you fuck. Women make for a decent enough antidote to that kind of depravity, at least in bed.

You’re sure she can’t see you from your vantage point where you lean discretely against a pillar, with hundreds of people moving past you. Even so, she seems on the alert. Age has been kind to her. Other than a single lock of silver hair - which you think actually complements her - her face is unchanged. You can't say the same for yourself. Your hair may not be graying but your face is more refined, your cheekbones pronounced. You'd lost some weight - indulging in food just never gave you the same pleasure as it did before you met her. And it never really did again. 

Beardy man is rambling about something to her right, but she seems agitated, shifting slightly in her seat and glancing immediately around her. She glances down at her phone again and types a short message. Beardy touches her arm softly, and she startles, giving him a reassuring smile.

Your phone buzzes.

—————

Two hours after the bridge she was at your hotel door.

You’d wandered aimlessly through the streets, fighting the urge to beat the next person who even smirked in your direction. But now that you and your monster were better acquainted you knew how to shut it down. You were resolved to try Oksana on for size. But so far it had given you nothing but fucking pain. You craved release. And you did a masterful job of keeping it down until you got back to the hotel room.

You coated the master suite with the content of the mini-fridge. You shrugged off your golden cape and black skin-tight top and threw them haphazardly across the room. You fell crumpled into a ball at the foot of the bed letting your tears fall like you were a fucking five-year-old child. You’d done too much damn crying in the past few weeks. It really was bullshit. The old Villanelle would have destroyed you.

Then, frantic knocking at your door. You jolted up, your hand reflexively flying to your back to the knife discreetly stashed in the fold of your opaque tights. If it was the Twelve, there was a good chance you were fucked. One you could handle -- even two if they'd underestimated you by sending incompetent newbies. You listened for the footsteps to gauge how many of these motherfuckers you’d have to deal with.

Instead, you heard her voice -- her tone quipped as she tried to constrain her obvious anger, that you knew all too well. You felt yourself melt just at the sound of it.

‘Villanelle….’

She sighed heavily. You feel the corners of your mouth pulls upwards.

‘Oksana….I did not just promise Carolyn I’d work for her again to get your hotel number just for you not to answer the door.’

You can’t move. A heavier sigh of exasperation. Her voice jumped an octave.

‘And I sure as hell didn’t just make the decision to destroy my entire life to not be with you.’

Your smile broadened. But then you remembered why you went through the hell of leaving her in the first place. Especially when you open the door and see her petulant face. You fucking love Her. You almost falter.

Instead, you plaster on your favorite shit-eating grin. You think you'd have better luck turning her away as Villanelle.

‘Eve Polastri...To what do I owe this pleasure?’ you quip in a posh British accent.

Her mouth falls open and her eye twitches with repressed anger. ‘You’re such a shit.’ She says coldly. Then she breaks, stepping inside, then pushing you squarely on your collarbone. The door swings shut behind her. You let her 'attack', carefully keeping the painted simper on your face.

That is until she backs you against the wall and says, ‘You do not get to walk away from me. Not after everything that’s happened. After all, we’ve been through.’ Her deep brown eyes are wild, desperate, and seeking.

Your act falters. You feel it fall from your face. You’re cracked wide open, vulnerable, and exposed -- like one of your hits right before you blot the light from their eyes.

It’s fucking terrifying.

She seemed to see the shift too and stepped back. Her eyes grazed over your body — as if she only now became aware that other than the black lace bra and tights, you were pretty much stripped bare.

‘Eve...I…’ you whispered, not knowing what you’d even intended to say.

Her face reddened. She gulped. Her lips parted before she said, ‘I know,’ and closed the space between you.

She takes one step forward and you’re pressed flush together. Her hand finds its way to your cheek the way it had all those other times before. Each time different.

You bent your neck slightly, hoping to find her lips. Instead, she pressed them to your neck. You let out a breathy moan, surprised by how electrified you felt. You’d been with hundreds of women and have never felt so unarmed. You felt the tips of her fingers trace either side of your stomach, before grasping the skin greedily as her mouth opens on your neck. She pulled her face away and looked up at you. Her eyes were wild, hungry. You felt your insides lurch.

You steal your brain against this and ready yourself to make a desperate attempt to fight it — to pull yourself from the wall she’s pinned you to, away from this woman who has both destroyed and saved you from yourself. For the latter, you owe her that.

But you are you, after all. You grab her hips and flip yourself out of your position on the wall so that you’re the one pressing her into it. Your hands stay squarely on her hips as you bend your neck down and crash your lips against hers.

It’s not a kiss in the traditional sense. But neither of you have ever been traditional. Both of your mouths are parted open as you breathe the other in. It’s sloppy and needy and not enough, you’ll never have enough of her. She moans into your mouth, throaty and animalistic. You fight to control the kiss, your lips molding together. Her lips soften against your own. Your lips part with a soft pop as you both catch your breath. You rest your forehead against her own. Sweat pools on your skin.

Your eyes lock. Slowly and carefully you kneel before her, never breaking eye contact on your way down. You feel your knees press against the soft carpet. This is your church — the only worshiping you’re interested in. You look up at her in reverence. Her lips are parted and her breath is shaky. Her wild curls backlit against the light behind her form a halo around her head. You’ve never seen her look so unhinged, or so fucking beautiful.

She lays her hand against the back of your head. Your hands still gripping her hips, you hook your fingers into the top of her jeans on either side. Her hands move down to your hair tie which she removes with a soft tug. You hear her sigh, her eyes taking in your blonde strands as they fall across your shoulders. A sudden urge takes over you, and you grasp either side of her pants tugging gruffly. She moans as you work them down around her ankles, her head lulling back against the wall.

‘Look at me Eve,’ you command, the authority in your own voice startling you. Her eyes flew to your own, deep with want. The air between you is heavy. You're soaked, filled with shameless want. You don’t know how to be with her without losing yourself -- to the dark, to the leech inside that consumes you and anyone around you.

So you try to merge the two instead, for now, and do what you do best.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut, smut, smut. Villanelle remembers the explicit details of the one night they shared.
> 
> Check out my playlist, crafted with V & E in mind: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJF5Nygxe_4
> 
> And my Youtube channel: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NoziKjxDykeao2O5btNdk?si=HnZ_onPEQTSDX7-ucRS6yg
> 
> FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED! :)

______

Your phone buzzes. You glance down. A text from one of your employees confirming the time of the ‘hit’.

You audibly sigh in annoyance and type back a curt response, then tuck your phone neatly back into the leather of your culotte pockets.

Your gaze falls back to the bench where she sits. Only, she’s no longer there. Your mouth falls open in disbelief. It’s just Beardy Man sitting there with a petulant look on his face, his arms crossed across his broad chest.

Your eyes scour the train station — that raven hair shouldn’t be so hard to spot. Since when did she ever evade you? This was a first.

You’ve gotten marginally better at being patient over the years. It was a learned trait. And besides, she’d probably be returning at any moment, anyway. You mimic Beardy and fold your arm across your chest, slumping in your seat.

An unexplained emotion bubbles up inside your chest. The feeling hadn’t come around in a while; you remember the last time you felt it — seeing her...happy.

She’d just come back from the Saturday farmers market that Beardy Man had dragged her to.

You sat watching her discretely from a cafe across the street as she laughed into the air. Only people who knew her as you did would see the change.

Then, the clash between wanting her and wanting her to be happy rose up within your chest. You knew you could never elicit that feeling in her. Well, not in that way. Not in the way that lasts. 

This was about 5 years ago — it was one of the last time you ever saw her, up until now.

Some things never get better with time, you thought to yourself. Even with practice.

After seeing her that day you jumped the next flight out to Vienna. You had a hit there next week; you figured you might as well get to know the city and its women.

You tried to fuck the pain away, but it lay heavy in your chest for weeks.

In one of your fits of rage, you killed a man just for the thrill of it — like the old days. The cheating bastard, quite frankly, deserved it. But after strangling the light from his eyes against the hard brick wall in an ally outside a deserted bar, the feeling persisted.

It only really went away with time — and empty distractions. Like your new business, or the brunette lawyer from Munich that gave spectacular head and held you Anna did after you came in a way that made you feel….wanted.

But nothing, nothing in the 8 years living in the ‘after’ could recreate what you shared with her on that night after the bridge.

\--———-

Very few things disarmed you. Your line of work had always kept you on the alert, pleasantly emotionless. But always fed by the thrill of the chase, the power of wiping out a human life.

But Eve’s gaze, partially concealed by her wild curls as she peered down at you where you knelt between her legs — that, that sight alone was enough to unravel you.

There was no way you were letting her see the effect she had on you. Not very sexy.

So you focused on the Villanelle you thought awakened her. The Villanelle she saw the night you held a knife to her chest with her back pressed against her kitchen counter. When you still felt powerful. Whatever the fuck that meant.

She bucked her hips toward your face. You plastered on your choice devilish grin, reaching for the tips of her hip bones, pushing her back against the wall.

‘Hold still,’’ you growled. ‘I need to taste you’.

That did something to her. Her eyes, pupils blown, hardened as she focused her gaze on you. You felt her hands fly to your shoulders. She sunk down into her heels until you were eye-level.

Her eyes were pleading, but her face was determined as she said, ‘Oksana.’

The sound of your name sounded like a request.

She continued. ‘You don’t have to put up this wall…’

‘Oh, would you prefer another wall?’ you retorted wiggling your eyebrows, because, well, you are you. 

Wrong response. Her face hardened, but then softened. She rested a hand to the side of your face again.

Your lips parted as you gazed into her eyes, unable to escape the scrutiny you found there.

You knew how to handle women in bed. But for the first time in your life, you were at a loss. Because this was Eve. No more charades. She could see you.

And it was fucking terrifying and titillating and countless feelings you couldn’t put a name to.

While you were caught off guard she kissed you. And it wasn’t like the bus. Her eyes were open for only a moment before she closed them and sunk into you, her lips felt focused against your own. You felt her climb into your lap, her full thighs clasping around your hips. You rocked back, falling somewhat awkwardly against the floor.

You never thought Eve would be the one in control.

You felt her hand trace against the low of your stomach, across the line of the scar she’d created years ago. Her lips paused against your own.

‘It’s okay,’ you whispered, using this moment to unbutton her pants. ‘I don’t regret it.’ She breathed huskily into your mouth, then kissed the side of your face like an apology.

Even from your position beneath Her, you were impressed with your ability to unbutton her pants. She took in a sharp intake of breath as you roughly tugged her pants and panties down just enough for you to reach around and grab her ass, pulling her into you.

Her head fell from your cheek and she moaned into the side of your neck, grinding her hips down into your own. Then you felt her body pause, as if she herself was taken aback by her own visceral response to your touch - of just how much she wanted it. 

As you traced your right hand down her stomach toward her center, she reached for your hand to stop you. She lifted her head from your neck, looking down into your face.

‘Who says you get to go first,’ she retorted. You grin. You can’t help it.

Instead of snapping back with a retort, as you typically would, you reached down, lifted your hips and pulled down your tights, your eyes never leaving hers. You then clasped her right hand in your own, and guided it down. She was quick to catch on, her mouth falling open in a marriage of disbelief and lust.

‘Who said anything about taking turns?’ you finally say, as you feel her press her entire hand against your core. You could have come alone just at the image of it.

At the same time, you reached down and curled your fingers inside her, pressing against her inner wall. She let out a guttural moan and sank deeper.

Then she seemed to remember herself, and her fingers moved against you. Your entire body shuddered, your neck arched back as you began to lose yourself.

The way her fingers moved against you made you doubt her claim of ‘never being with another woman’. She didn’t show any hesitation, her fingers nimbly circling your clit -- she hadn’t even entered you yet and you were about to come.

Her fingers stalled momentarily as you continued to push your own inside of her, her forehead falling against your own as you breathed into each other’s mouths. It was messy, animalistic, and unfocused.

You remember yourself then.

‘Eve…’ you sighed, coaxing her hand away. She looks enraged, like a petulant child — her face a slick mess, her cheeks red.

She didn’t have long to respond as you pushed yourself up to a sitting position, kissed her chastely, then whispered in her ear, ‘ Lie on your stomach.’

Your Russian accent comes out more heavily as you lose control of any thought other than what was happening at this moment.

The stubborn look fell from her face at those words. Her mouth parted as if she was about to protest. Instead she disconnected herself from your hips.

Once she was lying flat, you wasted no time removing your black tights fully so that you were completely bare beneath the hips.

You straddled her left thigh and flattened the whole of your body against her back so that your breath tickled her ear. You could feel the thud of her heart reverberating through you.

‘You ready?’ the thickness of your voice betraying your arousal. Her breath was heavy beneath you. 

You traced your right hand down her spine, over the fullness of her ass, and down further to her unoccupied right thigh. You wrapped your fingers around the thickness there.

A groan. The sound did something to you. You ground your center into her thigh, just before nimbly entering her with two fingers.

She was slick with sweat beneath you, trembling and squirming, her hands clawing into the carpet. Using your free hand, your reach above her, stretching your body against her to quiet her hands. 

Your breathing became heavy as you quicken the thrusts of your hips against her now slick thigh, in time with each thrust of your fingers.

Then she was unraveling around your fingers, letting out a sharp cry, the side of her face almost contorted in pleasure. You press your lips against her open mouth, and you breathe each other in, helping her ride out the first wave.

Her body was boneless beneath you, spent. But you were still brimming with want. It almost hurt how badly you yearned for release. She seemed to sense this. She propped herself onto her elbow, and you let her maneuver her way onto her back.

She wasted no time, reaching up, her fingers entering you fully for the first time. You collapsed against her again, whimpering into her ear.

Her free hand cupped the fullness of your tit, then squeezed more aggressively. And you’re close, so close but something was stopping you from letting go, as you tried to hang on to the last slip of control you still have.

Her hand moved from your nipple to the back of your neck as she pulled you in, ‘Oksana…’ she whispers in your ear.

Her thumb pressed into the hood of your clit in time with her thrusts. That did it. Your hand grasped a handful of hair at the back of her head as you gave into yourself, your mouth open in a silent release as pleasure coursed through your body.

You lie, pressed together. Your weight resting fully on top of Her, your body spent. Your breathing synchronized. You’re unaware of the space around you. All that existed was the two of you, in the now, in a moment you both knew, even then, was fleeting. Already a memory.

That’s all there is, after all, you thought to yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my playlist, crafted with V & E in mind: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJF5Nygxe_4
> 
> And my Youtube channel: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NoziKjxDykeao2O5btNdk?si=HnZ_onPEQTSDX7-ucRS6yg
> 
> FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These two idiots don't know how to love each other without the depravity.
> 
> Inspired by my Spotify playlist, crafted with V & E in mind: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NoziKjxDykeao2O5btNdk?si=HnZ_onPEQTSDX7-ucRS6yg
> 
> My Youtube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJF5Nygxe_4

\------------

Eve had only bested you once. You had the scar to prove it. That’s why it blows your mind how she’s managed to disappear from the bench in the time it took to respond to a text. 

Another 10 minutes pass. No Eve. Beardy Man seems peeved at this point. He crosses and uncrosses his meaty legs at least eight times and is now fidgeting with the tassel on Eve’s suitcase. Where were they even going? You imagined a mind-bogglingly boring long-weekend by the sea, or maybe a dreary couples retreat. Your stomach curls. Well, as long as she was ‘happy’...and safe, for that matter. 

You glance at your Omega gold plated wristwatch. Your train to Edinburgh departs in 15 minutes. 

‘Пиздец’, you mutter.

You consider rescheduling your hit to tomorrow -- a middle aged self-entitled Scottish politician who’d planned to spend the weekend at his family's country house outside of Edinburgh.

You decide against it, considering the amount of moving parts you’d have to reconfigure, not to mention the pistol eager trainee assisting on the job who was a tad too gun happy. The only reason you gave him a chance was because Vlad, your most trusted employee said he was ‘limber’ and almost unnoticeable. 

You cast one last glance in Beardy Man’s direction, then gather your rolling suitcase and make for the direction of your track. 

Your eyes scour the station en route for Her. You felt watched. 

In the 15 plus years of your depraved line of work you’ve learned one thing: you don’t fuck with gut feelings. And so the hunter has become the prey, you thought to yourself, internally rolling your eyes. 

You move with the flow of foot traffic, camouflaging yourself with the oh-so-pitifully-boring commuters. You knew how to disappear; it was much easier when you wore cool toned colors, as you were today. 

Your track came into view. Very few people were entering. You’d have to be careful here. The crowd was beginning ebb, each person cutting away toward their differing tracks. 

You discretely reach under the breast of your jacket, then under the fold of your sports bra to grab your shiv.

A few more steps and you’d be vulnerable to whoever this asshole was.  
So when you reach the gate, and no one’s approached you, you’re genuinely surprised. You reach inside your pocket for the ticket stashed there.

That’s when you feel the gentle weight of a hand rest on your left shoulder. 

\-------------------

The night after the bridge became the day after. You lay tangled up in each other's limbs. Somewhere in the night you moved from the carpet to the king sized bed. Who knew the simple act of kissing could be so delicious? You remember the push and pull of your bodies. She loved the fullness of your ass, the doughy expanse of your stomach. 

You couldn’t decide which part of her you loved best. You could have spent the entire night and next day exploring her body. You barely spoke. It didn’t matter -- you remember thinking. The way you moved with one another communicated more than a thousand words could have. At some point you passed out. You woke the next day with your arm possessively looped around her, your head tucked against her chest, beneath her chin as you lay facing each other. 

You pulled back to look at her, leaving your arm in place. Her face looked...serene. The notable worry lines she typically wore like a tattoo between her brow was gone. She seemed younger, worry free. 

Her eyes flew open as if she already knew you were staring. 

‘Morning,’ you trilled -- your voice comes out too high and wispy.

Her gaze dropped briefly to your lips. Then she placed her hand on the side of your face, as she had so many times before. ‘Oksana,’ she said simply. You were beaming. Your body was electric, you felt color warm your cheeks. 

She let out a sharp laugh and buried her face into the pillow groaning. 

‘‘I think I’m having deja vu.’ 

You’re confused, and, rightfully, annoyed she hadn’t kissed you. Even if you weren’t sure your swollen lips could handle it. She laughed harder. 

‘Eve, there’s only room for one psychopath in this bed.’ 

She turned to you, her eyes soft. 

‘Remember that night in Rome? Before...the ruins,’ she says her yes subverting yours for a moment in the memory. You nodded, ignoring the hot flare of regret in your chest.  
‘Well, you weren’t alone that night. Or the next day. I sort of...well I used Hugo...erm…’

You smiled at her obvious discomfort. 

‘So Hugo and I had sex..’ 

Your mouth dropped open. Jealousy flared up in your stomach but you tried to hide it with a nonchalant raise of your eyebrows. 

She continued, ‘but you were in my ear the entire time. And the next day, you greeted me exactly like you did this morning.’ 

Her eyes fell back to your lips. ‘Only the real thing is so much better.’ 

You didn’t know how to respond. Eve had fucked herself to the sound of your voice. Regardless of the British twat who tainted it. You were wet from the thought of it alone. 

Catching her off guard, you inched closer to her on the bed and pressed your lips to her jawline, biting softly before pulling back. ‘Eve,’ you purred into her ear, ‘I’m flattered. But next time, remember a penis is never a good stand-in for what you can do with your own hands.’ 

Then you were the one caught off guard as she swung her leg over your body and mounted you, her weight resting on your pelvis. Your aching lips gave into hers. You’d never get enough of her, you thought to yourself.

You pulled your face from hers and caught her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, heavy with want -- and something else. Something warm and unnamable. 

You opened your mouth to said those words again -- but the memory of what happened after you said them the first time stops you. You try anyway. 

‘Eve...Eve I ---’ 

Her eyes refocused, and panic flooded her face. She pressed her lips back to yours as if to preemptively seal shut the fallout of the ‘after’ you both feared.

You weren't afraid of much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating more consistently now guys!

The weight of the hand on your shoulder feels too heavy to be a woman. As usual, you’re right. You turn to find a sweaty balding man with patchy red cheeks panting in your face.

‘Miss, you happen to know where track 17 is?’ he barks in a thick Cockney accent. Masking your disgust, you plaster on a sickly sweet smile and respond, ‘I’m not sure.’

That’s when you see her. It’s her hair, of course, that catches your attention first. As the pudgy man continued to drabble on about missing his train you saw the bouncing black locks among the crowd, about a meter ahead of you. You peer over the man's shoulder and now see her clearly. She is standing still, facing you. Her hands hang limply at her sides, her feet planted in place. Her mouth is slightly open in disbelief, and that adorable little V rests right between her eyebrows.

Her eyes...they’re filled with something that looks like love -- fuck it, you know she does. Even after all these years of never having said the words to you. But there’s something else in them too...fear?

And then it’s like you’re living in one of those ridiculous rom-coms you’ve spent hours watching. Everything else is gone. It is just the two of you, as it should be.

She takes a tentative step in your direction. It reminds you of all those years ago on the bridge. The same expression, the same insistence to get closer.

Outside of the bubble of the two of you, you’re aware that the man in front of you has stopped talking.

There’s a reason you never let your guard down.

A searing pain explodes in your upper back, pulling you from your trance. Your gaze momentarily refocuses on the man in front of you whose face now bears a maniacal grin. A high, weedy voice of another man behind you, ‘Your expiration date is here Oksana. We knew the Polastri woman would lead us to you.’

Your seasoned instincts kick in at that moment -- you reach for the shiv but it’s too late. The two men sneak off into the crowd and you’re stumbling forward. Only 3 seconds have passed. You should have caught this before it happened. But Eve had a way of making you sloppy.

On your way down your gaze locks with Eve’s who only now seems to realize what’s happened in a matter seconds. Her brown eyes are filled with terror. You can taste blood in your mouth. It feels like the ground rises up to meet your kneed and not the other way around. She’s suddenly there with you, her knees hitting down almost at the same moment.

‘Oksana, oh god, Oksana!’

You fall forward into her, your face unintentionally burrowing in her hair.

‘Eve,’ you croon, but her name comes out in burbles as you cough over blood. She smells the same as always. This you think to yourself, just before it all goes black.

.......

You’ve never given much thought to dying. At least not your own death, that is. Sure, it was a possibility. 

But there was nothing you could do about it so why think about it? Plus, you were pretty much invincible. 

But now you’re not sure if this is death. In the blackness you think you can see red light flit beneath your eyelids. 

Now you can hear her voice. 

‘Villanelle! Stay with me!’

More frantic breathing and the muffled voices of others.

Eve’s voice comes again, this time a frantic whisper. 

‘You can’t go you asshole. I — I love you.’ 

Now you know you must be dead. But if this is the afterlife you’d gladly take it. 

Only now you feel anger. Anger that she never said those words to you when you were alive and well to hear them. Anger that you knew she felt that way, and never admitted it. 

‘Well that’s too mad’ you mumble. 

You hear her voice again, this time high and giddy. ‘Oh god! V can you hear us? Come back!’

Huh, this afterlife business is a trip, you think to yourself. 

Then it all goes black again. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve's POV to come next chapter. We're nearing the end guys!

It’s black until it’s not. You smell antiseptic before you open your eyes. Then the insistent beep of a heart rate monitor. Your body doesn’t feel like your own. 

You peel your eyelids open slowly and see nothing but obnoxious fluorescent light. Another hospital.  _ Great _ . You never thought you’d land yourself here again. 

You wait for your eyes to adjust. Your mouth feels like sandpaper. Then you realize your worst fears are true -- you’re lying on your back on a hospital cot. You groan internally.  _ This is bullshit _ . 

And then the time before it all went black comes back to you.  _ Eve. _

That wakes you up. 

Your eyes now adjusted to the light, you scour the room. It doesn’t take long to find her. She’s slumped in a dated brown hospital chair against the wall to your right, her body halfway down it and completely passed out. She’s somehow still grasping onto a cup of what looks like shitty black coffee. Her hair’s a riotous mess. The little V between her eyes shifts in her sleep. You feel your face lift in a weak smile.  _ Damn you Eve Polastri for being so endearing _ .

It comes back to you then. What she’d said to you when you were half-dead. You must have dreamt it. A euphoric ‘glimpse’ or something. The disappointment at realizing this must be the case is suffocating. 

You continue to stare at her sleeping face and will yourself to stop loving her. Even better, you’ll hate her. You try to think of all her flaws -- her petulant little face when she’s mad, her feigned nonchalance to cover up how affected she is by your flirting, her ridiculously drab fashion. 

Shit. Who are you kidding -- you love all those things about her. 

You’ve loved her so much you were able to turn away from her on that bridge, and you continue to do it again and again. 

But it hurts. Obviously, your first instinct is to kill the source of your pain. You didn’t think there was any alternative until Rome. 

After, you realized regret was the worst pain of all. It was something you couldn’t fix. 

After the elation of finding out she was alive, you vowed to yourself you’d never hurt her again. 

That didn’t mean she wouldn’t do the same to you. There were moments when she’d crack through the wall she put up -- like when she kissed you on the bus. Or all those little times in the after. 

After you left her you fucked and killed for years after. Until you figured out a way to still be you, without the killing. And the business was working. But there was always that ache for her. Always. It would never go away. Life was a bullshit purgatory without her. Lukewarm water. 

You’re still staring when she startles awake. You’re too late to fake sleep. 

Her eyes immediately find yours. 


	6. Chapter 6

_**Eve** _

\----------

You’re having one of those dreams where you subconsciously know you’re dreaming. In the dream you see her across the train station but this time you warn her; you actually know about the ploy to kill her and you’re ready to stop it. You’re running toward her -- the recent memory of her face when she saw you is clear in your mind. You’d never seen her happier -- her expressions as so soft. But this time you were running towards her. This time you’d intercept the men who came to take her from this world. 

But your legs wouldn’t move. The more you struggle the more she recedes into the distance. Until her face is just a blur, and the hulking presence of the two men blur your vision. You wake with a sharp intake of breath. You remember where you are. 

Your eyes fly to the hospital bed. 

She’s staring at you. Her hazel eyes are cloudy, as if lost in thought. You’d had hours to examine her face -- the last time you saw her was eight years ago as she walked out of your hotel room and never looked back again. 

She had gotten older. But it was nice. It made her jawline sharper and the overall way she held herself more...refined. But she still had that childish glint in her eyes. You couldn't imagine that would ever go away. 

Her eyes refocus on you then. 

‘Hi Eve,’ she attempts to say, but her voice comes out gravely and breathless, still weak from her surgery. 

‘Hi’ is all you can manage because you feel tears forming in your eyes and you know if you speak anymore you’ll fall apart. You pick your usual defense and go with anger instead. Your hands balled into fists stand and start pacing back and forth near her bed. 

‘So trouble really does follow you everywhere you go, huh? You want to tell me what those goons were doing chasing you? Do you have any idea what could have happened...’ You feel yourself continue to ramble off a firing line of complaints just to abate the tears. 

And the idiot is smiling at you, the corners of her eyes turned upwards. That does it. You feel the tears welling up. You collapse by the side of her hospital bed and rest your head on her chest, your head turned away from her to hide the onslaught of tears. 

She’d never seen you cry. And dammit if you can help it, this wouldn’t be the day. 

You feel the smoothness of her palm against your cheek. Then her finger tips move across your brow and delicately move through your hair. You momentarily wonder how hands capable of such depravity can also be so gentle. Maybe it was just for you. 

‘It’s so good to see you,’ she murmurs. 

You can’t stifle the silent sobs racking your body so you don’t say anything. That just encourages her. 

‘You know, Eve, if you hadn’t been so distracting I would have easily been able to take those two amateurs out.’

You say nothing. 

‘You know I can’t resist you when your hair is down like that.’ 

This was helping. You begin to steady your breathing. 

‘It’s too bad you didn’t have your axe at the ready. Those two wouldn’t know what was coming for them.’ 

That snapped you out of it. You lift your head from her chest and look her square in the eye. She’s smirking. The little shit. 

You consider firing back a retort but instead burst out laughing. Crazy laughter. The kind you only do when relieved. And the relief you felt to see her little shit-eating grin staring back at you was enough to send you through the roof. 

You fold your arms on the edge of her head and bury your head there as waves of laughter rock you. 

‘Eve?’ you dimly hear, her voice sounds concerned. You look up, her eyes are wide and searching. 

You finally speak. 

‘I meant what I said to you.’ 

That wipes the smirk off her face. Her eyes are wide and vulnerable -- like they were as you laid together on the bed in Paris in what now feels like another lifetime ago. 

When they’re like this, you can see all the little fleks within the hazel. Her cheeks are rosy pink. 

For a second, you hesitate to say those three words again. All the years between the two of you never lessened the depth behind them. You would always feel it for her. 

But seeing her lying here vulnerable, after another narrow miss with death made you realize that she needed to hear it. 

You hesitate a breath too long. She must have mistaken your hesitation for all those other times before. 

‘You didn’t say anything,’ she says, decidedly. Her eyes harden and her jaw tightens. 

‘Villane---’ 

‘No, Eve. It’s okay. You didn’t say anything.’

She looks at you more softly now; god, your stomach still does somersaults when she looks at you like that. 

  
  
‘Eve,’ you relish the way your name drips off her tongue, her Russian accent coming out stronger with emotion. ‘It is better we stay apart….like before.’ 

That hurts. You feel the rejection wash over you. You rock back on to your heals, stand, and begin pacing the room again. 

‘No Eve, you don’t get it. It is better for _you_. We are not safe. And you know that.’ 

And, deep down, you know that she is right. You knew what she meant: she’d never hurt you, not again. But together, you were both more prone to danger than ever.’ 

Your back is now turned to her and your voice comes out hoarse when you respond; once again you envy her ability to hide emotion. 

‘Since when did you become so rational’. 

‘I’ve become very wise in my older years’.

You turn around and face her again. She’s plastered on one of your favorite of her lopsided smirks. 

You gaze at each other. You both knew how hopeless it all was.

She pats her bed. ‘Come here Eve.’ 

Like a petulant child you shuffle your way towards the bed. Why does it feel like the dynamic between the two of you has shifted? 

You’re about to pull up a chair to sit near her but she stops you by grabbing your hand. 

‘No, lay down next to me.’ She makes an attempt to shift herself but winces. 

‘Oh god V! Don’t move.’ 

‘I’m fine,’ she retorts with a pained smile, but doesn't make an attempt to move again. She glances up at you, ‘please’ she says tapping the paltry space on the hospital mattress again. 

There was barely more than a foot of space, but you manage to lie down facing her, your body flush against hers. You drape your arm carefully over her stomach, and rest your head just beneath her chin, and above her chest. You feel her cheek rest against the top of your head. 

In the silence of the hospital the sound of her heart beating is all you can hear. A comfortable silence falls over the both of you. And it’s like it’s always been when you’re alone together. 

‘This is nice. I hate hospitals, so that is saying something,’ her voice cracks. 

You hum in agreement. 

You both know she had to go soon; that they’d be after her as soon as they knew she’d survived the attempted murder. 

Even worse, you knew that the closer you were to her, the more at risk she was. You hang onto the last few moments you had with her, listening to the steady flow of her breathing. 

You realize that you’d never spent more than a few hours at most in one time with her. 

The moments between the madness were all you shared together. So you try to do the inconceivable: turn off your mind and just be here with her. The now was all you had.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written from Villanelle's perspective, and, I won't lie, It was quite challenging to break into her headspace and get her tone down. Thoughts and comments are not only always welcome, they're SO appreciated. 
> 
> If you care to dabble in my other creative mediums, check out my Youtube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJF5Nygxe_4
> 
> And my playlist, crafted with V & E in mind: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NoziKjxDykeao2O5btNdk?si=HnZ_onPEQTSDX7-ucRS6yg


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